


The Way to a Man’s Heart is through His Stomach

by IKnowWhoYouAre_Damianos, Zombieprinz



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, DamenIsAChef, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Food, LaurentIsACritic, M/M, Nicaise (Captive Prince) Lives, Other, POV Damen (Captive Prince), POV Laurent (Captive Prince), Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-06-01 20:11:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15150926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IKnowWhoYouAre_Damianos/pseuds/IKnowWhoYouAre_Damianos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombieprinz/pseuds/Zombieprinz
Summary: Damen is a highly praised chef, but there seems to be one critic whom he can't win over: Laurent de Vere. Why is this stranger writing such withering reviews?Damianos Akielos was an ass in college, at least that’s what Laurent thinks. Gladly, Laurent is a critic and Damen became a chef. What's better than revenge combined with writing?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [C.S. Pacat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=C.S.+Pacat).



> So, here we start. It's planned as a multi-chapter fic and I really hope you like the first chapter. English is not my first language, so please don't judge smaller mistakes. Never hesitate to correct me. I'm German.  
> Thanks to the wonderful xlydiadeetz and zombieprinz for being my Betas <3  
> Please leave a comment and let me know how you like it. 
> 
> It's my first fiction ever and I'm very nervous :-D

_ Akielos - The new Olymp? Anything but heavenly! _

_\- by Laurent de Vere_

_ “In France, traditions are highly appreciated. Since my roots lie in France, this is nothing new to me. Indeed, as a gourmet and critic, I’m constantly in search of creativity and the associated progress. The French cuisine of the South is characterized by various influences of the whole Mediterranean Basin, which gives me great pleasure ever since my childhood.  _

_Upon hearing about the highly praised “Akielos”, I decided to see whether it lived up to its reputation. Afterall, receiving acclamations and being dubbed as the new Olymp by various friends of mine, is no easy feat._ _The owner and head chef, Damianos Akielos, who in the last two years has caused a stir with the attainment of the “Chef of The Year” title, promises in his first own establishment a creative reinterpretation of Greece’s traditional Mediterranean cuisine. I went on a Friday evening. At first glance, the interior already met my (high) expectations. The furnishing is indubitably kept modern and minimalistic. The well lit dining area highlighted finer details within the restaurant, but were dim enough to suggest a snug sojourn. A quick scan of the menu definitely is promising. My choice fell on the three-course menu with a wine pairing. The sommelier, Makedon Nikolaidis, bears the “Sommelier of the Year” title absolute deservedly. In joyful anticipation, I leaned back into the quilted pad of the backrest and waited for the first course. Should the quality of the food equal the service, then there really seems to be a new Olymp of Mediterranean cuisine._

_ The realization that the “Akielos” was nothing but a glamorous scam and disgrace of authentic Mediterranean cuisine began with the evening’s first course.  While I was promised vine leaves stuffed with rice and dill on an espuma made of capers and citrus fruits with lime mousse, I tasted nothing but a potentially vomit inducing concoction.  I found the quality to be exactly the opposite of my friends’ auspicious chorus of praise. The vine leaves were stale, the capres citrus fruits espuma much too sour, and the lime mousse came up with a spiciness that almost brought me a cough attack. The monkfish in the following main course was dry and as stale as the starter’s vine leaves. The fennel was more than a drop too salty and therefore inedible. Furthermore, there’s no need to speak of the other sides at all. They were so unspectacular that they’re not even worth a mention. Even the way of presentation was far from a “Chef of the Year” niveau. I tend to soften my judgment if there is a dessert that can win me over. Alas, the coco parfait on a caramelized pineapple served on a lemon mirror with pistachios could absolutely not convince me. I had the feeling that the chef wanted to chase me out of the restaurant with a pure sugar bombardment. _

_ Damianos Akielos may have gathered the “Chef of the Year” title, but can’t impress me with his own establishment. After this disastrous evening full of culinary disappointments, I raise the question of how he was able to gather this title in the first place. I've tasted better food at street food stalls on occasional trips to Greece than at the fancy but definitely unjustly priced “Akielos”. Whoever hopes for delicious Greek cuisine better should visit their trusted diner and get a good Moussaka. Plus, the 120 dollars spent for the subpar menu with a wine pairing would have been better spent saving up for a short trip to Greece for some truly authentic cuisine.” _

* * *

 

Damen’s jaw dropped as he stood in the restaurant kitchen with his morning coffee reading Laurent de Vere’s review. Was that guy sure he had eaten at the  _ Akielos _ ? Enraged, he folded the newspaper and shouted into the kitchen that he’d be out for a moment. He didn’t even pull off his chef jacket before he sprinted across the street to “Nik’s Pub”. The front door was still locked but Damen knew that Nik was around early because beverages used to be supplied every Wednesday morning. He crossed the courtyard, headed to the backdoor and knocked a bit too loudly at the door until Nik opened. 

 

“Have you read the review?!”

 

“Good Morning to you, too,” yawned a very sleepy Nikandros.

 

“This guy is completely nuts!” Damen unfolded the newspaper and began reading the review with a hint of anger in his vibrating voice. For the last paragraph, the anger fully came through.    
  


“Damianos Akielos may have gathered the “Chef of the Year” title, but can’t impress me with his own establishment,” Damen mocked. “But wait Nik, the best is yet to come.    
  


After this disastrous evening full of culinary disappointments, I raise the question of how he was able to gather this title in the first place. I've tasted better food at street food stalls on occasional trips to Greece than at the fancy but definitely unjustly priced “Akielos”. Whoever hopes for delicious Greek cuisine better should visit their trusted diner and get a good Moussaka. Plus, the 120 dollars spent for the subpar menu with a wine pairing would have been better spent saving up for a short trip to Greece for some truly authentic cuisine. I mean, is he sure that he actually ate my menu?!” 

Nik could see how infuriated Damen was right now. His shoulders were tensed and his face was filled with indignation and a hint of  pain. Nik knew how hard Damen had worked to finally make the restaurant pay off. He was the best cook Nik had ever met and he was a wonderful host.

Damen rubbed his face with his hands and let his head fall on the counter.    
  
Damen murmured, “This is the last thing I  need right now, Nik. I’m still stressing about the damn credit from the bank.” The disappointment was written in his face as he slammed the newspaper on the counter while Nik started redistributing bottle by bottle from the crates into the fridges. Damen had had to raise a credit for the renovation of the restaurant - a six-figure amount - and now he struggled with the redemption of the enormous installments. The business worked well and was mostly fully booked for weeks ahead but the cost of sales was huge and one withering critic could easily make people change their minds so that they considered eating somewhere else. Admittedly, a few mishaps had happened recently. The last weeks simply were too much to bare. First the bank’s installment was raising and then he had to deal with Jokaste. 

 

Nik stood up and threw the newspaper in the garbage. “Damen, man, take it easy! Stop minding this shitty review. It’s one out of dozens and that guy for sure is just some blowhard without a clue of what he does. You’re our “Chef of the Year”, have you already forgotten that?” Nik stopped stuffing the fridges and started preparing two mochas, Damen’s favorite kind of coffee. He then gave his friend an encouraging pad on the shoulder and sat down beside him at the bar. 

 

“Of course I haven’t forgotten that, but with that review it’s possible that less people will come over. And if sales start crashing, I can totally forget the restaurant. Kastor forced up the installments for the credit so high that I won’t be able to compound them anymore and in the end, I’ll be left with a huge debt. What can I do now, Nik?” Damen desperately asked. He knitted his brow while his mouth corners fell down. Suddenly, there was a hint of fear in his eyes Nik couldn’t disregard. 

 

Nik scanned his best buddy from head to toe. Damen had huge, dark circles under his eyes and honestly, he looked more than just a bit worried. Nik had never seen Damen like this before. He usually was cheerful, his dark-brown eyes beaming like the sun, and on his lips he wore his big grin. It hurt Nik to see his friend like that and he couldn’t remember when he had last seen Damen so unhappy. 

“Damen, listen. Stop giving a shit about some wannabe’s fucking review and do what you do best: cook. People love what you cook. Even I love your food and I usually despise all that fancy bullshit.", Nik reminded Damen. And really, as much as a sucker for junk food as Nik was, he still always went back for seconds when Damen was cooking. Damen leaped down from the bar stool and padded Nik back on his shoulder.  “Thanks buddy. That was the encouragement I had needed.” He forced a half-hearted smile. 

“I have to go back. We have a brunch this morning so I have to help the crew. Will I see you after work? Do you need a ride?“

“Sure! Want to come over for a beer after work?” 

“I’ll be there around eleven. I’ll bring some food, too.” 

“Great. Bear up, my friend!”   


“Thanks, Nik. See you tonight.” 

 

With that, Damen was out of the door, ready to head back to the restaurant where a heavy workload was waiting for him. He wasn’t sure how to survive that day, but knew that only his work could distract him and that’s what he needed right now. 

When Damen entered the kitchen, the crew had almost everything prepared to his full satisfaction. He hated that critic for showing up on an evening he had been dispersed. Jokaste had called him in the morning and had asked for a coffee to reconcile. But the pain was still too deep so Damen had just hung up. Now it all seemed to be shittier than before.

 

“Chef, are you listening?” 

 

Damen blinked, realizing that someone was asking him a question. He turned to face Erasmus, one of the cooks. With an apologetic glance Damen  asked, “Come again?”   
  
“How many people are we having for brunch and for dinner? We just wanted to start preparations for tonight.” Erasmus shot a concerned glance at him. “It’s because of that review, isn’t it?” Damen contemplated giving a random excuse but then nodded.    
  
Erasmus patted his back and continued with a calm and sympathetic voice, “You really shouldn’t worry all that much. It was just one bad review and we all know that shit hit the fan on Friday, but look on the bright side! We’re fully booked today.  Try to transfer all that negative energy into something positive and productive. You’re one of the best chefs I know, Damen. Your food is amazing. I mean, otherwise we wouldn’t work for you.” Erasmus added smiling.    
  
Damen knew Erasmus had a point. He couldn’t mope around or show off his worries in front of the whole crew, so he pulled himself together and gave instructions for further preparations. As the restaurant opened and the guests arrived, Damen forced himself to concentrate on them. He visualized why he had wanted to be a cook.    
  
He had dreamed of becoming a chef  since he was a little boy, always helping his parents in their own restaurant. When he finished high school, he had decided against pursuing a career in the culinary arts and studied Education and Sports instead. He remembered how his parents always had been having a hard time making ends meet with the restaurant. He also had worked as a gym teacher at a school for two years and he really had been loving his job, especially the kids, but when his parents died in this awful car accident, he knew he couldn’t give up their restaurant. He then quit his job and threw all his time and investment in his parents’ restaurant. Sure, he had changed a few things like the name and the furnishing, but the core element - Greek cuisine, prepared with love and appreciation for its traditions - had never changed. When Damen had attended university back then, he always helped out in his parents’ kitchen, so he knew how to cook professionally. This place reminded him of his parents and their love. He definitely never could have given it up.    
  
The critical recognition came fast.  Within two years, Damen had received the “Chef of the Year” title, which his parents certainly would have been more than proud of. Now he couldn’t ever imagine going back to being a teacher. He had found his vocation and was more than happy. 

 

The bustling kitchen somehow brought him down and helped him concentrate on his preparations for brunch and dinner. He even found some time to pay some bills and do some paperwork in his office.

The brunch came along pretty well and Damen was confident that dinner would as well. The constant buzz from the kitchen and the urge to avoid further mistakes had almost made him forget the review. It only came back to his mind when the last guest had left. When they closed the doors around 10:30 in the evening, Damen felt satisfied. He had received many compliments for his menu all day long and his performance finally seemed to be restored.    
  
Damen helped clean the kitchen and pulled off his white chef jacket. It had blue buttons and the left breast pocket with his name in gold embroidery. It was a gift by Nik when Damen had reopened the restaurant after the refurbishing. His friends had been proud of him and this thought gave him a warm feeling. 

 

He headed to Nik with two big containers with food. There were two people seated at one of the wooden tables in the corner of the pub.  They were drinking a beer and playing cards.    
  
Damen spotted Nikandros at the counter and sat down on a stool next to him. Nik didn’t notice his presence until he was directly beside him. Nik was texting, most likely Jord. Those two seemed to be inseparable since they had started dating a few weeks ago. “Hey bud, gimme a Bud.”    
  
Nik looked up from his phone and gave Damen a big smile. He filled up two glasses with beer and pushed one over to Damen.   
  


“Hey, how was it today? A total disaster as you’d prophesized it?” He couldn’t hide an even wider grin.    
  
“It wasn’t as disastrous as I predicted”, Damen admitted ruefully. “Can we just get on a couch with Netflix and eat our dinner, please?”    
  
Nik had to laugh at Damen’s almost childish beg. He spoke as if he was talking to a child, almost cooing. “Of course we can. Give me a few minutes to kick the last guests out. I will get us home, soon.”   
  
Damen immediately stopped moping and bursted into laughter. Nik walked over to the guys in the corner, asked them to pay, and started cleaning the few remaining glasses in the sink. When the two finally had left, Nik locked the doors and ushered Damen in the direction of his car.   
  
Nik almost always took his bike to get to work and loved it when Damen drove them home. They shared a house, anyway, so Damen never saw a problem with that. Damen sat down in the driver’s seat and started the engine while Nik fastened his seat belt in the passenger’s seat. The drive was short, only about 10 minutes, and neither of them said a single word. Both were too exhausted for a proper conversation.    
  
Damen parked the car in the driveway of their big, comfy house. It was his parents’ house and as with the restaurant he hadn’t been able to sell it, so he had decided to move in four years ago together with Nikandros who was looking for a new apartment at the time. They had refurbished and refurnished it and now they really enjoyed living there.    
  
Jokaste had been living with them back then, but after their sudden split-up one and a half years ago, she had immediately moved out. Now she was living in a small apartment four blocks away. Sometimes Damen missed her so badly and yearned to get into contact with her again. But then, when he remembered what she had done to him, he enjoyed living with Nik alone.    
  
Damen got out of the car, waited for Nik finally to get out of it, too, and unlocked the front door. When he got into the living room, he slumped down on the couch, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion and weariness. It really had been a long day and his feet and back hurt so he didn’t even bother to pull off his jacket or his shoes.    
  
Nik settled himself right beside Damen and opened the two food containers. After handing out the cutlery, they gorged themselves on the savory chicken and rice. Damen realized that this was the first bit of food he ate since the tiny bowl of cereal and milk he’d eaten in the morning, but he didn’t feel hungry at all. After picking at his food for a couple of minutes, barely eating something, Nik leaned over, staring at Damen’s container.    
  


“You’re still eating that?”   
  


“I guess you can have it,” Damen said, letting some glumness slip into his voice.  He handed Nik the container.    
  


“Still depressed because of that review? Come on, Damen!”   
  


“It’s not only that review, you know? It’s that review, and the bank, and Kastor, and Jokaste…”

 

“Jokaste? You’re still down because of Jokaste?” Nik shouted appalled. “ _ She _ fucked Kastor, Damen. It wasn’t your fault! Stop moping around because some bitch cheated on you with your brother.”

 

“I know, I should stop, Nik,” said Damen, his eyes fixated on his feet. “But I miss her and I hate that I lost the last member of my family. Kastor was the last one I had after Mum and Dad had died. I had never thought that he was capable of cheating on me with her.”

 

“I know, Damen.  _ You _ are the only one not considering him capable of fucking Jokaste. I bet, he’d only waited for that one moment, he could finally hurt you. I see, the waiting paid off for him.”

 

Damen buried his face in his hands, feeling his eyes welling up with tears. He felt Nik’s hand slowly stroking his back, comforting him, no words needed. When all tears were shed, he settled his head into Nik’s lap, watching  _ Stranger Things _ , his eyes getting heavy. Nik was stroking his hair - an old habit they both didn’t want to get rid off, appreciating the comfort coming along with the repetitious movements - only one thing on his mind - Laurent de Vere. He had to find out why he got such a bad review by a guy he’d never heard of. He was sure that he’s heard his name before, but he couldn’t recall when and where.  _ Laurent de Vere, Laurent de Vere _ was everything he could think of as he slowly dozed off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2.. we get Laurent's POV and I really hope you like how I imagined Laurent and Nicaise. Writing Laurent is the hardest part since he is sarcastic af. Really love him, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my beloved co-authors Zombieprinz and xlydiadeetz.   
> Thank you all for the love and support. It's the first fiction I've ever written and your love amazes me.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated.

For those interested what Laurent’s cat looks like:  [ https://www.pets4homes.co.uk/images/articles/1227/large/beautiful-blue-eyed-cats-528e07172d62d.jpg ](https://www.pets4homes.co.uk/images/articles/1227/large/beautiful-blue-eyed-cats-528e07172d62d.jpg)

Laurent woke to his 6:30 alarm in the morning. The night had been quiet and he’d gotten enough sleep, which still happened very rarely. He quickly stretched before walking into the bathroom, getting ready for the day. He pulled off his sweatpants and comfy oversized sweater and turned on the shower. He stepped under the spray, relishing the hot water jet massaging his tensed shoulders, slowly lathering his body and hair with his favorite shampoo. After 15 minutes into his shower, he could hear a knock on the door.

 

“Laurent, I really need to pee. Can I come in?”

 

“One more minute, Nicaise!” His voice probably was a bit too harsh, but Nicaise knew that he hated any form of disturbance in the shower. 

 

Laurent wondered why Nicaise would be up so early in the morning. Maybe Nicaise’s night didn’t go as smoothly as Laurent’s. Nicaise had the tendency to be woken up by a nightmare.    
  


Laurent  turned off the shower, already missing the warmth and safety he always felt when standing under the hot water. He  fetched a towel from the towel rack, dried himself off, and wrapped himself up in the comforting white terry cloth bathrobe. When he unlocked the bathroom door, Nicaise almost knocked him down, not even waiting until Laurent was out of the room before pulling down his pajamas pants and then darting for the toilet.   
  


Laurent went straight to his dressing room, shaking his head in astonishment, wondering how Nicaise could be so comfortable with being naked around other people. He put on some dark-gray skinny jeans and a dark-blue sweater and headed back into the bathroom, where he used to dry his hair. He recognized that his hair had grown too long. It almost reached his shoulders now. He thought he should cut it soon. The last time he wore it longer was back in high school and he was bullied way too often for looking effeminate with his slenderness and his love for books.

 

Nicaise, still busy with his catlick, greeted him with a big smile. some toothpaste foam dripping down his chin. 

 

“Are you shooting another guy down in flames today?”, Nicaise asked, his eyes filled with excitement, the toothbrush still in his mouth.

 

“Did you see me eating out, yesterday? Because I’m pretty sure I’d been here all night, watching dumb TV shows with you,” Laurent retorted, plugging in the hair dryer and cutting Nicaise short.

 

“The food at the Akielos wasn’t that bad.”, Nicaise countered when Laurent had finally unplugged the hair dryer. “Why have you given it such a bad review, though?” Nicaise wore a  knowing smirk.

 

Laurent headed off to the kitchen, pouring himself some green tea and eating a chocolate croissant while opening the New York Times, reading the local news section. Nicaise caught up a few minutes later, dressed in his favorite black ripped jeans and a salmon sweater, his shoulder bag already packed for school.

 

“Because that’s what it deserves. The food isn’t very tasty, the menu is overpriced, and the chef is completely incompetent,” stated Laurent.

 

Nicaise snorted and took a container with Honey Nut Cheerios, filled up a big bowl and poured some milk over them. He started scarfing them down, which earned him a stern and grossed out look by Laurent. 

“You’ve been watching him all evening, you know? I have eyes, so you can’t deny it. You’re so obvious.” Nicaise spoke with his mouth full. 

 

The restaurant kitchen had been separated from the dining area by a huge window, so that every guest could watch the crew prepare the food. Damen had been standing at the pass all night, dressing every single dish with abandon. Laurent might have shot him a few glances, but he knew that no matter how good the food would have been, his review would have stayed the same. Damianos Akielos - “Chef of the Year”. What a farce! 

 

“I haven’t been watching him all evening! And you better try to finish your breakfast or you will go to school without it. I swear, it wouldn’t interest me in the slightest.”

 

“You just don’t want to talk about him. You’ve been avoiding it since we had been at the restaurant. But you definitely know him! You knew him before. You were so goddamn dumbstruck when he greeted us.” Nicaise loved riling Laurent up, but Laurent was so used to it and to be honest, he loved Nicaise’s shining eyes, filled with joy and waggery.   
  


He’d gotten much more relaxed since they had left his uncle’s house four years ago. Laurent had finally turned 21 and was old enough to come into his inheritance. Nicaise‘s parents’ had died when he was still a toddler. Laurent’s parents had been caring of him, but then his mother had died of cancer and his father of a severe heart attack only a few months later, so they had been forced to live with Laurent’s uncle. Laurent suddenly felt a semblance of nausea boiling up, so he composed himself by taking a deep breath and shot Nicaise a mischievous glance.

 

“Shut up, Nicaise. Your time is up. It seems to me you’ve finished your breakfast, since there’s enough room for crap to come out of your mouth. Off to school!”   
  


With that Laurent was pushing Nicaise out the door, throwing the keys at him with a quick, “See you later!” and shut the door in his face. Laurent composed himself a few seconds more, still emotionally drained by the thoughts about his uncle, and backed off to his office. It was a spacious, tidy, modest room with a big wooden desk standing in front of a window overlooking a small garden. Laurent had chosen this house in Brooklyn because he finally felt safe and comfortable. In the corner behind the door stood an old 17th century style wing chair with a fancy arc lamp, providing a warm light for long reading sessions. It was the perfect place to be creative.   
  


Laurent checked his emails, deleting the unnecessary stuff such as spam mails and advertisements straightaway, answering the important ones afterwards. Thereafter, he researched new restaurants and tried to make two reservations for Nicaise and him. After three hours into work, Filou hopped on his lap and demanded her daily portion of tender loving care. Laurent took a break from editing another review about a small Italian restaurant in his neighbourhood and started petting the cat, his thoughts wandering back to Damen.    
  


When Laurent and Nicaise had moved to this house, Nicaise had wished for a dog. Unfortunately,  dogs were not possible because Laurent had to work most of the time and Nicaise went to school. Only cats were a possibility.  So, they had visited the local shelter and found Filou, a blue ragdoll with blue eyes, kind of resembling Laurent’s. Nicaise couldn’t resist her eyes the moment he saw her, so they adopted her.  Now, they couldn’t imagine their home without a cat. 

 

Damen would be kind of a dog type, Laurent guessed while his fingers slowly caressed Filou’s neck, making her purr from time to time. Since that Friday evening, he couldn’t stop thinking about Damen. Sure, Damen would even have less time for a dog with having the full-time job at the restaurant. It had been too overwhelming, seeing Damen in this chef jacket, three-day stubble, his body still well-shaped and muscular, and brown puppy-eyes fully concentrated to make sure every plate was a masterpiece. He hadn’t changed a lot since college and Laurent was sure that Damen was still this overly testosterone-lead, womanizing, confident ass.    
Laurent couldn’t understand how Damen could be such a good cook and manage his own restaurant. Of course a few mistakes had overshadowed the evening and the fennel had been really salty, but all in all it had been a great menu. Laurent was pretty sure that Damen couldn’t remember where they first met, but Laurent would never forget it. He had to admit that for someone, who’d been spending his whole study time chasing after girls, playing stupid drinking games and almost never seeing a library while still acing all his courses, Damen seemed to have come a long way.

 

Laurent stroked Filou tenderly for a while, mind miles away, until a new email popped up on his screen, jolting him out of his thoughts.  It was an invitation to a local awards show, honoring some of New York’s best sommeliers. He quickly checked the nominees and confirmed his appearance. Laurent checked his watch and suddenly thought about Auguste, realising that he was almost too late. He set Filou down on the floor and gripped his dark-grey wool coat. If he wanted to be on time for lunch with Auguste, he’d have to hurry. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 shows Laurent meeting Auguste. We get a bit deeper into Laurent's feelings and probably his motives. But honestly: I've written this chapter for all of us who wanted to see Auguste alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, your love and your support. Special thank you as always to my dearest betas. I love you!
> 
> Comments are recommended. How would you like the story to go on? I would love to include your ideas. I know where this will be going, but I love some foreign input to work with.

“Laurent! So glad to see you!” Auguste got up from his seat and bear hugged Laurent, who almost immediately stiffened, still not used to firm touches. He must have noticed Laurent’s twitch and loosened his hug swiftly.   


“I’m glad as well,” Laurent admitted and fondly looked his brother in the eye. Their eyes shared a similar blue, but Auguste’s were never filled with anxiety or worry. His eyes were nothing but smiling every time Laurent’s met them. Laurent could drown in Auguste’s eyes. They always brought him comfort and safety.

 

“Earth to Laurent! Earth to Laurent! Are you still among us, little brother?” Auguste laughed and shook Laurent softly.

 

“I’m sorry.” A smirk escaped Laurent’s lips as he pulled of his coat and took a seat on the cozy bench. This sushi restaurant was their favorite place, both - Auguste and him - having been suckers for Sushi since they’d eaten it for the first time with their parents a long time ago. The restaurant was cozy but modern, exactly how Laurent liked it with comfortable benches and nice Japanese tables.

 

“So, is there anyone occupying your mind? Probably someone who doesn’t consist of paper and a binding? Probably a human being?” Auguste teased, raising an eyebrow, which Laurent took for another innuendo he was already used to.

 

“Auguste,” Laurent scolded him. “You know that no one can melt my heart in the way a book can.”

 

“Oh come on, Laurent,” Auguste scoffed. “There must be some guy in this beautiful world that can win you over. Even you can’t be that intimidating.”

 

“You know that I can. Do you remember that guy you tried to set me up with at your engagement party?”

 

“Okay, okay,” Auguste gave in. “I give up. I guess that guy still has to see a therapist regularly.” They looked at each other and bursted into laughter.

 

Nine months ago, Auguste had celebrated his engagement with his beautiful fiancée Fleur, a Parisian girl Auguste had met as he’d been studying abroad. Her actual name was Florence but all her friends called her Fleur and Laurent had quickly adopted that habit. Auguste had arranged a date for Laurent, some flat beau with no hint of esprit. Laurent had somehow managed to muddle through the evening with that guy, but when he’d touched his thigh, Laurent had blown a gasket and had bawled him out in the presence of the whole party. It hadn’t been completely his fault - Laurent simply tended to overreacting when he got touched - still he had never managed to supply him with a proper excuse.

 

“Well, it was his fault. He shouldn’t have touched me .”

 

“Laurent,” Auguste interrupted him in a slightly upset tone. “Are you still seeing your therapist? You know that you should be.”

 

“I’m still seeing him regularly,” Laurent admitted through gritted teeth, when a waiter approached to take their order. They ordered a mixed plate of nigirizushi and makizushi and an exquisite sake.

  


“That’s good, you know,” Auguste added with a lowered voice, frowning.

 

Laurent knew that Auguste still felt guilty for not helping Laurent back then, when he’d been living with his uncle. But Auguste’s compunction was wrongful.  Laurent had never asked for help or talked about what was happening. When he learned more about the issue two years ago, he’d helped Laurent to denounce their uncle and get a therapist.  
  
“I don’t want to push you,” Auguste continued cautiously, “but there could be someone out there for you. Someone you could trust. Someone who will love you unconditionally and who will accept you the way you are.” Auguste lifted his head up and looked him straight in the eye. “Someone who doesn’t want to hurt you, but love you. And you could probably love him back. With that special person you could probably overcome your fears and learn that affection, especially physical, can be wonderful.” He cracked a smile and shot a fond glance at him.

 

Laurent understood that his brother only wanted to see him happy, but he felt a rush of panic boiling up and suddenly felt an urge to run away.   
  
Auguste must have recognized the change of Laurent’s mood and gripped his hand gingerly to reassure him that nothing bad would happen.

 

“Excuse me,” was all Laurent could mutter before he stood up and walked straight up to the restrooms.  
  
When Laurent entered, he was alone so he turned on the cold water and splashed it in his face. Once he felt steadied, he toweled his face swiftly and walked back to Auguste, who gave him a worried look. Their food had arrived so Laurent took his seat and started eating, not wanting to discuss this further, still waiting for the rest of his panic to recede.

 

“You wanted to meet me. Is there any news?” Laurent asked, his voice calm and steady, as if nothing had happened a few minutes ago.

 

“Indeed. It’s a surprise and I wanted to share it with you first before we announce it next month at our big Thanksgiving party.”

 

Auguste’s eyes were brimmed with tears and joy at the same time, leaving no doubt that Laurent’s assumption had been correct. That would cost Nicaise 20 Dollars.

 

“Fleur is finally pregnant. She’s in the fourteenth week, which means that she’s passed the critical phase.”   
  
Tears started running down Auguste’s cheeks and Laurent felt happy for him. He knew that Auguste and Fleur had trouble conceiving and tried it many times, even attempted IVF. She had gotten pregnant three times, but she had miscarried with each one. They had never passed the critical phase of three months before. Laurent knew that this took a load off Auguste’s mind.

“That’s so wonderful,” replied Laurent excitedly. He rose and tugged Auguste into a warm hug, casting all his cautions to the winds. Auguste shed a few more tears until they got back to their lunch. Auguste showed Laurent the ultrasound pictures, his eyes now bursting with pride. After they’d finished the sushi, they ordered coffee - tea for Laurent - and started chatting about Nicaise and his performance at school. Laurent had no cause for complaint,  Nicaise was admittedly lazy, but he was smart and his grades were satisfactory.

 

“I totally forgot to ask, but you didn’t send me your latest review, did you?”, Auguste interrupted in an undertone of curiosity. Usually Laurent sent him all his reviews so they could slander about the bad restaurants or recommend the good ones to friends. Laurent, however, knew that Auguste would smell a rat.

 

“Well, my last one was about that fancy Chinese restaurant. You received that one, right?”  


“Yes, I did. _This_ was your last one?! They pay you quite extraordinarily for two to three reviews a month,”Auguste mumbled.   


Laurent’s critics were highly appreciated by the audience especially for his sense of humor and his sharp tongue. “See brother, I’m indispensable, unlike you,” Laurent retorted cockily. With that, they rose, Laurent insisting on paying the bill to mark the occasion. He still felt overwhelmed by the good news.

 

“Any plans for Friday evening,” Auguste asked curiously.

 

“Yes, I will attend an awards show. Honoring sommeliers. Work, you see.”

 

“Well. you miss our movie night, then.”

 

“I guess your friends,” - and Laurent meant one friend, Nik, in particular - “will come over. So I’m more than happy to get bored at the show.”

.

“Whatever you please,” laughed Auguste and gave Laurent a quick hug.  
  
Laurent took a look on his phone, recognizing that it was almost afternoon, thinking that Nicaise should be home from school by now, and stopped a cab to get back on time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damen's POV again. They get to meet soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for the kudos and your love in the comments. I'm sorry that some may feel uncomfortable with the way I portray Laurent. I swear, he's a nice guy, there's a reason for his overreaction. I guess, some might have gotten the scene with Laurent and his party date wrong. Actually, it's my fault. I translated it a bit weird and fixed it.
> 
> I love your comments. They are the biggest motivation. Keep commenting. I hope you enjoy this one.

Damen had woken up hours before the alarm went off, not only because of the awards show, where Makedon would most likely get his third big sommelier honor, but also because of the possibility that Laurent de Vere could show up there, too. After taking a quick morning shower and brewing his obligatory coffee, Damen sat down on his comfy sofa with his laptop and started googling, “Laurent de Vere”.    
  
  


The second search result led him to a website of an esteemed food magazine, showing Laurent’s picture on the “Our Authors” site, giving a short description.

  
  


_ Laurent de Vere, 25 years old and a passionate Food Critic, has his roots in the motherland of good taste: France. For this very reason, he’s the managing editor of “The Connoisseur”. He’s always up for testing new and long-established restaurants, making no bones about his experiences. He’s that one guy at the table with a sweet tooth, who never declines a good dessert. His sharp-tongued critics spiked with a delightful sense of humor have made Laurent de Vere one of the most appreciated critics - at least by our audience. _

_ He holds a BA degree in Literature _ _ s _ _ and Art History and a MA in Journalism from PECA University, New York City. In his spare time, he loves to jog, travel and read a plethora of books while sharing an armchair with his cat Filou. _

_ Favorite season: Winter _

_ Favorite Wine: 1986 Chateau Margaux _

_ Favorite Dish: Linguine with scallops and white Piedmont truffle, Sushi _

_ Favorite Dessert: Moelleux au Chocolat with tipsy raspberry purée and homemade vanilla-tonka bean ice cream.  _

  
  


PECA University! It suddenly dawned on Damen that he indeed could know this guy. If Laurent had studied at PECA while Damen was studying there, they probably could have come across on Campus. But he couldn’t remember where or when that may have happened. He set the laptop down on the side table by the sofa and ran  upstairs , taking two steps at a time. 

  
  


When Damen reached the landing, he tripped over Nik’s sneaker, almost falling to the ground, only preventing it by grabbing the rail in the nick of time. He headed for his bedroom, opened the wardrobe and picked up a big blue box labeled with “University”. It was always kind of strange to go through all this old stuff that reminded Damen of his time at PECA, where he had spent the most precious time of his life, making new friends, hanging out with wonderful people around a bonfire Nik playing guitar, having sex with beautiful girls and guys, never wanting it to end. 

  
  


He lifted the lid and saw a thick photo album, yearbooks and other stuff that he had wanted to keep when he had moved out of his student room. He picked up the pile of yearbooks and started paging through them one by one, until he finally found what he’d been looking for: a picture of a drop-dead gorgeous, pale guy with steel-blue eyes and almost golden hair framing his tenuous jawline, wearing a dark blue V-neck sweater. 

  
  


_ Laurent de Vere, Undergraduate, chief editor of the monthly student paper  _ was written under the photo. 

 

Damen finally knew that his intuition hadn’t let him down. He somehow was sure that he had seen this face before and it was true; they obviously attended the same University, but he still couldn’t make sense of Laurent’s malice. Why did Laurent hate him so much? What drove him to write such a withering review? Damen recalled a few situations where he could have met Laurent, but couldn’t remember ever talking to him. He certainly looked familiar  to him ; probably a resemblance to someone Damen knew. 

  
  


Suddenly, Nik entered the room and sat down on the edge of Damen‘s bed, “Morning, bro,” was everything he muttered, eyes more shut than open.   
  
  


Damen smiled and replied with a big grin, “There’s coffee in the kitchen and I was about to prepare eggs and bacon with toast.” 

  
  


“Sounds great! Good to see that you feel better,“ Nik said, forcing a smile while stretching and standing up, yawning and walking towards the kitchen. 

  
  


Damen hastily put everything back into the box and closed the lid.  He left the yearbook with 

Laurent’s picture on his nightstand and went for the kitchen as well.

  
  


“I’m so nervous. I hope Makedon wins tonight,” said Damen and started frying eggs and bacon. Nik helped him set the table and poured them both another cup of coffee. 

  
  


“I’m sure he will,” replied Nik reassuringly. “Speaking of the show tonight,” Nik continued, “You know that I’m not coming with you since I’m invited for video night at Auguste’s?”. 

  
  


Damen nodded and gave him a bright smile. “I know, bud. I’m bringing Erasmus. He’s so excited to see Makedon win.”

“Okay, I was afraid that you would be mad at me. Good to know that you still love me,” Nik laughed and gobbled his breakfast.

  
  


Damen grinned. His friendship with Nik meant a lot to him and he could never imagine this friendship to end. After finishing their breakfast, Nik went upstairs for a shower while Damen washed the dishes. Afterwards, he drove to the restaurant for lunchtime.

  
  


“Hi, Makedon! Ready for tonight?,” Damen asked while patting Makedon’s shoulder. 

  
  


“Man, I’m so excited. If I win, all drinks are on me , tonight. ”

  
  


“Hear ye, hear ye!” exclaimed Damen and bursted into laughter. The staff chiming in shortly afterwards. Damen gave instructions for lunch and dinner and prepared the crew for his and Erasmus’s absence tonight before going to another lunchtime war.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damen is rooting for Makedon at the awards show, if there wasn't this special guest sitting at his table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, sorry that it took me months to finish this chapter but I guess I really improved, at least I hope so. 
> 
> You'll find the word "smoothie" in the text which is the only expression my dic gave me when looking up the german word "Lackaffe". "Scumbag" wouldn't be the right expression, though it fits somehow.
> 
> Thanks for your patience, I also have a second WIP I wanna share with you soon.
> 
> Leave some comments so I know where we're going; they're always a burst in motivation. It's also better to subscribe, since I can't update regularly. My master thesis is killing me.
> 
> Love

In the evening, after showering, Damen was standing in front of the big mirror in the hallway, giving himself a once-over. He usually wasn’t the type to wear a suit, but for special events like awards shows, he had decided to always have a nice tailored one in his wardrobe. He wore a white shirt and a black bow tie and for the first time in a while, he felt attractive again. 

  
  


If Jokaste was there, she would wear a red dress and certainly be the hottest lady at the show. Damen missed her, especially on such occasions where he had to show up alone. A moment later, he scolded himself for such thoughts, but the ringing doorbell jolted him out of them. He opened the door and saw Erasmus in a black suit as well. 

  
  


“Wow, you look amazing!” Damen exclaimed and Erasmus blushed a little bit.

  
  


“Thank you. You look amazing, too,” Erasmus acknowledged. “Ready to go?,” he added excitedly and pointed to the door.

  
  


“Yep, we can go,” Damen said solemnly, fetched his keys and exited towards the car.

 

“Damianos Akielos and Plus One,” Damen told the receptionist with a big smile on his face.

  
  


“Good evening, Sirs. Welcome to our “New York City’s Best Sommelier” awards show. May I leave you in the hands of Frank, your usher and waiter for tonight? He will answer all further questions. Enjoy your evening!” She gave them a curt smile, ushering them towards Frank. 

  
  


“Hello, my name is Frank and I am your personal waiter for tonight,” he presented himself, leading Damen and Erasmus along countless round tables, stunningly decorated with orchids, candles, white covers and tablecloths. They approached one of the round tables, right in the middle of the spacious dining area, where a few other guests had taken their seats shortly before.    
  
Suddenly, Damen was flabbergasted. Right there, next to his alleged seat, was a tiny wooden place card on which “Laurent de Vere“ was written in longhand. 

  
  


This simply couldn’t be possible! Why the hell did they have to seat him next to that  _ ass _ ?! Damen turned around to face Frank and asked quite pissed “Sorry Frank, could you seat us at another table? I don’t think that this is a good combination!” 

  
  


“I’m sorry, Mr. Akielos,” Frank explained, looking apologetic. “All seats are already occupied or assigned.” 

  
  


“The pleasure is all mine”, was all Damen suddenly heard as he pulled his head around. As he faced Laurent, he suddenly stiffened. 

  
  


“Lau-...Laurent de Vere,” was all he mumbled.

  
  


“Very smart! You mastered the connection of a place card and my appearance. Congratulations.”

  
  


Laurent’s posture was typically bolt upright, his face showing a mixture of a slight grin and a tad of arrogance. He took his seat and ordered drinks, ignoring Damen who was still standing.

  
  


“Oh, don’t think it’s a pleasure for  _ me  _ to sit next to you,” said Laurent while taking a sip from his aperitif.

 

Just as Damen wanted to retaliate, the lights went out and a spotlight exposed a golden grape vine and a huge champagne bottle on a pedestal to rataplan. Damen had no other choice but to sit down and wait until this all would be over.

 

_ Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen! Today, we proudly present the best sommeliers of the USA. _

 

The audience applauded. Only Damen didn‘t know how to handle the situation. Laurent seemed so cold and confident, like a rattlesnake weaving with its head and warning with its rattle. 

  
  


The first course was served and Damen felt like he’d never been so happy to get some wine. He recognized that Laurent refused to get some, which only strengthened Damen’s impression of him. 

  
  


Damen suddenly flinched as Erasmus patted his back to excuse himself to the bathroom. Great! Now he had to deal with this alone.

  
  


Damen eavesdropped the conversation between Laurent and Torveld, a critic Damen knew well from several magazines.

  
  


“I only drink when I test restaurants. An old habit.”

  
  


Laurent swiped his mouth with the tissue and handed Torveld the carafe.

  
  


“You’re definitely missing something,” Torveld said while grabbing his glass and raising it for a toast.

  
  


“I enjoy wine, but only when I’m at home in my armchair. I never drink and drive. And I don’t like drinking in public if it’s not for a review.”

  
  


“Great decision, but what are cabs for?”

  
  


Laurent and Torveld laughed, something that distracted and irritated Damen. He sighed from great relief when Erasmus finally came back.

  
  


“Could you hand me some bread, please,” Damen suddenly heard in a harsh but still decent tone. It must have been a repetition since Laurent gave him a look that screamed ‘idiot’.

  
  


Damen handed him the bread basket and was startled by his action. Why did he do this? This guy tried to ruin his reputation with a shitty review and now he was sitting there, handing this idiot bread. 

  
  


“Thank you,” Laurent said and turned back to Torveld.

  
  


Damen saw how Torveld leaned closer towards Laurent. They started whispering. From time to time Torveld shot a glance at Damen, taking turns with Laurent. It seemed like their conversation turned into a discussion, but after a few seconds Torveld raised his hands in surrender and gave Laurent a smile, which Laurent returned. 

  
  


Smiling Laurent looked almost unbent, friendly, even sociable which made Damen think that Laurent probably wasn’t as icy as he assumed, even though this assumption only lasted for a few seconds. He wondered what the relationship with Laurent’s seatmate was based on. When Damen realized that he had stared at them for quite some time he turned around to face Erasmus and was met by a look he couldn’t really make sense of. 

  
  


“Don’t look at him all the time,” Erasmus said chuckling. “It’s Mackedon’s evening and you could look at me instead of wasting your time  looking at him.”

  
  


“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Damen kindly apologized, as he is struck suddenly by a queasy feeling.

  
  


“Mr. Akielos, right?” It was Torveld who addressed him. Damen faced him and gave him a blunt “Yes?” while frowning.

  
  


“We were just discussing the wine. Don’t you think it has a cork taint?”

  
  


Damen was a bit surprised by this type of conversation, but also relieved because wine was really a thing for him and he was glad to be able to talk about something as profane as that.

  
  


“Oh yes, I tasted it, too. We should try to get a new bottle.”

  
  


Laurent gave Damen a glare, took Torveld’s glass with an eyebrow raised and took a sip. 

  
  


“You should indeed, but not because of the cork but the taste itself. Way too sour and not a perfect accompaniment for the beef filet in the main course. I recommend one with a whiff of cherries and fir, best a 2015 Domina pinot noir which is really a good one. It has a touch of vanilla, wild berries and forest.”

 

“Well, then let’s ask if we can get one,” Torveld cut into the silence that followed Laurent’s lecture. 

 

Damen frowned for a moment before nodding in agreement and continued eating his soup.

 

After the first course, the presenter started his introduction of the nominees and Damen could finally spot Makedon who seemed to be a bit nervous. Usually Makedon was the calmness itself, but now he was fidgeting. After greeting the novices and wishing them all the best for a successful career, the presenter went over to announcing the sommelier of the year.

 

_ This year, we have many talented sommeliers and I assume I speak for all of us when I say that every single one of them deserves this award. Alas, only one of you can win tonight and so far I can say that it’ll be the second award for our winner. Again, two years after his last win, tonight’s winner is Makedon Nikolaidis.  _

 

Damen sighed, smiled and rose to walk on the stage where Makedon was awarded with the golden grape vine and the champagne bottle. When Damen finally made it to him Makedon gave him a bear hug which Damen reciprocated. 

 

“I’m so proud of you,” Damen shouted into Makedon’s ear and it must have been so loud that Makedon backed away for a few seconds. 

 

“Thank you, my friend. This one’s for you.”

 

Makedon handed Damen the champagne bottle and went for the mic to give his speech. 

 

“Firstly, I want to thank the committee for honouring me tonight. Your trust shows me that my hard work pays off. Gladly, my hard work mostly consists of drinking.”

 

The audience applauded and laughed.

 

“Secondly and most importantly, I want to thank my outstanding boss and friend, Damianos Akielos.” Damen blushed a little and gave Makedon a big grin. “Damen, without you, I wouldn’t be here today. You supported me and believed in me. No matter what anyone says, you’re an idol and the best friend one could ask for.”

 

The music started while Damen neared Makedon to pat his back. They exited the stage under a thunderous applause and went to Damen’s table where Erasmus was waiting for his friends. 

 

“Congrats, man. I knew you’d make it.”

 

“Thank you, Erasmus. You two are great,” Makedon said chuckling. He continued much more quietly and said “Whatever that sucker said about us in that review: the next time he comes around I’ll serve him pig piss. The best wine I can recommend tonight.” All three burst into laughter. 

 

“You should tell him, he’s sitting next to Damen,” Erasmus said, fighting against a looming conniption.

 

Laurent held out his hand which Makedon ignored. “Well, Congratulations Mr. Nikolaidis. Tonight’s well deserved winner. Laurent de Vere.”

 

Makedon turned back towards Damen and Erasmus. “This review guy is sitting here and you’re telling me nothing,” Makedon mumbled through gritted teeth, glaring at his friends.

 

Damen just shrugged and gave him an apologetic look. Makedon turned around to face Laurent again, glaring while saying “I don’t know who you think you are, but this man next to me worked too hard for his success to be ruined by your lapse of taste.” With that he sat down and received his main course. 

 

Damen examined Laurent’s face. Laurent pursed his slim lips while the left corner of his mouth revealed a sly grin. His eyes gave no hint at his feelings away. It was almost intriguing how controlled he could be.

 

“How can I help you, Mr. Akielos,” Frank jolted him out of his thoughts. 

 

“Oh right, do you have a terrace or a park?”

 

“Yes, of course. We have a nice attached park which you can enter from the cocktail bar. Naturally, you’re invited to mingle after dinner and explore it.”

 

“Thank you, Frank,” Damen released the waiter and faced Torveld. “Mr.” Damen halted just acknowledging that he didn’t know the last name of Laurent’s companion.

 

Torveld grabbed his napkin, dabbed his mouth and completed “Patras. Torveld Patras.”

 

“Mr. Patras. Damianos Akielos, but feel free to call me Damen. Your name sounds Greek.”

 

“It indeed is, my father is Greek, my mother French.”

 

“What a coincidence. I’m sure you already know that I’m Greek, too,” Damen chuckled.

 

“Laurent told me, so yes.”

 

“So you know each other?”

 

“Yes, we’ve been kind of friends for three years. We had once worked for the same magazine.”

 

“I see. May I treat you to a beer afterwards? Only if Mr. De Vere doesn’t mind. We could talk about Greek food and get a nice Greek wine.”

 

“Oh, normally I’m open to conversation, but I’m not sure if I’d do Laurent injustice. I don’t want to overslaugh Laurent.”

 

Damen couldn’t hold a frown back at this and looked at Laurent who clearly seemed a bit confused, too. At least his eyes showed a hint of confusion and repulsion at the same time. When Torveld turned around to face Laurent, the glint of confusion was gone and his face was as indifferent as before.

 

“Torveld, whatever you please. I guess this could turn into an interesting night with Mr. Akielos’ taste.”

 

Torveld gave Laurent a smile, obviously not getting the broad hint and nodded. “Sure. Damen, that’s settled.”

 

“Great,” Damen exclaimed and returned to eating his filet.

 

After dessert and no other incidents, Damen took Makedon’s champagne bottle and headed with his friends and Torveld plus Laurent for the bar. Damen ordered a bottle of water and started a conversation with Torveld about Greece, food and wine. Makedon and Erasmus made their way into the park for a stroll and a cigarette.

 

“You’re owner of the Akielos, right,” Torveld asked.

 

“Absolutely. Have you ever been my guest? Having you over for dinner would be a pleasure for me,” Damen answered passionately.

 

“I guess you missed nothing, Torveld,” Laurent interposed. “I recently reviewed it and honestly, Mr. Akielos couldn’t convince me.”

 

“Can you tell me why the hell you wrote such a shitty review? I mean, it wasn’t my best performance for several reasons, but it wasn’t inedible.” Damen frowned, his eyes brimming with curiosity and disappointment.

 

“No work, tonight, Gentlemen,” Torveld interrupted Laurent, who was about to start for an answer. “Damen, how about a bottle Markovitis Xinomavro from Naoussa vintage 2012?”

 

Damen wanted to dissent but felt that Torveld was embarrassed by their ongoing dispute, so he nodded in agreement. 

 

“Naoussa is in the north of Greece, near the border of Macedonia. My father was born on Naxos, which is to the west of Paros. Did you know that Markovitis was the very first organic wine producer in Greece? The xinomavro, which means  _ acid-black _ , grapes used are aged in old chestnut barrels, which results in a complex aroma full of gooseberry with hints of olives, spices and dried tomatoes,” Damen answered, leaving Torveld quite startled. Damen would have loved to know if he impressed Laurent but his face showed nothing but indifference.

 

“Expect a grippy tannin, which will dry the mouth, with a lot of body,” Damen finished. “I’d love to get a glass.”

 

“Let me get us a bottle,” Torveld interrupted him hastily and jumped away towards the wine bar. Damen inspected Laurent for a few seconds, both sharing nothing but silence. His blue eyes exerted a pull on Damen as did his slender but well-trained physique and his fair hair, which was a bit longer than on the photo from the magazine website and reminded him of Jokaste. Damen thought about Jokaste and Laurent being quite similar in their appearances, but also in their characters. But weren’t the most beautiful animals at the same time the most dangerous ones?

 

“You’re staring,” Laurent jolted Damen out of his thoughts. Damen blushed when he met Laurent’s gaze, but tried to hide it by clearing his throat and searching for Torveld, who was luckily nearing again. 

 

“I got one.”

 

“Excellent.”

 

“Laurent, you should try it. You wanted the authentic taste of the real Greece?! Here it is,” Damen said as he unstopped the bottle with a loud pop and a raised eyebrow. 

 

There it was again. This grin. The same expression Laurent showed a few hours ago that brought the rattle snake image to Damen’s mind.

 

“Well, a sip won’t do harm.”

 

Damen filled up three glasses and was about to take a sip as he spotted something that almost made him drop his glass.  _ Jokaste _ . He blinked a couple times to make sure he didn’t hallucinate, but the truth outran his hope. Not only was Jokaste coming closer, on top of it, she had Kastor in tow.

 

“My, my,” Jokaste shouted as she neared their table. “Damen! And not alone.” Jokaste gave Laurent a quick glare, before she turned back to face Damen. 

 

“Jokaste. What a surprise,” Damen mumbled, trying to hide his disappointment at Jokaste’s mortifying attempts to do him even more harm, like she hadn’t hurt him enough already. He just glared at Kastor.

 

“I can see you found some pinchbeck already. Won’t you introduce me?”

 

Damen clenched the bottle as if he was about to dash it against a wall. “Laurent, Jokaste, Jokaste, Mr. de Vere.”

 

“And Mr. Akielos is definitely not my date. Although I’m sure you changed from smoke to smother.” Laurent glared at Kastor and Kastor at Laurent, leading to a staredown Damen knew Kastor couldn’t win, even if his eyelids were taped to his brows.

 

Jokaste faced Damen and stepped closer into his sphere of privacy. “I read that last critic. Seems like your silver lining’s passed. You’re exactly that pathetic loser I predicted you would be. The only time you didn’t disappoint me,” she hissed.

 

Damen didn’t know what to respond, he just felt anger and disappointment crawling through his veins. The very sight of Kastor would have almost been enough to lose control, but Damen knew better than to start a fight in public with his reputation already in disgrace. 

 

“I guess we both couldn’t meet each other’s expectations,” Damen responded, giving Kastor a glance before looking back at Jokaste with an indifferent expression in his eyes. 

 

“I’m pretty sure Mr. Akielos is still a better catch than your smoothie and whoever he’d take, it’d be an improvement in his taste. Seems like you were already rock-bottom so the bar’s pretty low,” Laurent cockily snarled back at her, the same ice cold stare that Damen had already observed more than once this evening. 

 

Apparently, Laurent had switched the stare down game from Kastor to Jokaste and this time Damen wasn’t sure if one of them would give in before the party was over. Wondrously, it was Jokaste who gave in first with a “Don’t throw bricks when you live in a glass house,” and turned away, linking arms with Kastor and pulling him outside. 

  
  


“Your taste in women is even worse than your taste in food,” Laurent retorted after Jokaste had left. 

 

“I don’t know what she told you and what you told her, but if it was an insult, it wasn’t wise. I mean, you tried ruining me with that critique and I don’t know why, but this guy was my brother. Not wise,” Damen snarled. 

 

“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure you know how to handle that guy. Illegal ways to bring someone to heel shouldn’t be new to you.”

 

Damen frowned at Laurent’s accusation, unable to connect it with an event that might had happened in the past Laurent could be referring to. He took a gulp of his red wine, letting his thoughts drift apart. 

 

“Is everything alright?” Torveld must have been watching Damen for some time. 

 

“Sure, sorry. Man, could you get us some crackers or something?”

 

“Of course, I’ll be right back.”

 

Torveld crossed the room towards the bar, which gave Damen the moment he needed. “Why that review, Laurent? Why did you write that fucking review? I mean, yeah, the evening was a bit chaotic, but that doesn’t justify this withering review. What have I ever done to you?” Damen’s eyes showed disappointment and honesty, almost pain.

 

“It’s nice that you try to pretend some things never happened between us, but be sure that I remember. It’s a farce that you deny it. You know, there was a time where I really considered you a nice guy, different from all those other football brutes, --” Laurent paused for a moment before continuing “but you were even worse.” Laurent slipped down from his bar stool and went to the bar where he collected a more than startled Torveld and rushed out of the crowded room. 

 

“Hey, where are Laurent and Torveld,” Erasmus suddenly asked a paralysed Damen.

 

Erasmus and Makedon must had gotten back from their stroll through the park and seemed a bit surprised by the others’ absence. 

 

“I don’t know, but I guess I did something I can’t even remember.” No one around Damen seemed to have understood what he’d been saying, but there was only one thing he would concentrate on for the rest of the evening, the week, even the year if he hadn’t found out by then: What did he do to Laurent de Vere?


End file.
